


It's Still Early

by solookup



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Post-Series, YAGKYAS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-28
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-05 09:23:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solookup/pseuds/solookup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Post-series, Nate flies down to see Doc.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Still Early

Nate lets out a deep sigh of relief when the plane touches down, and his feet make contact with American soil. Yes, he let out the same sigh of relief when he brought all his men back alive (all injuries aside), and stepped onto the plane. This is different though - they are all home.

After the ceremony and all the teary reunions, Nate watches his men leave, one by one, some with family, some with their girlfriends or wives, and some leaving alone. He watches, standing and tipping his head to those leaving. He wants to be the last one to leave. It seems appropriate somehow, no matter how late it is.

At last Doc Bryan walks up to him and extends his hand, for which Nate gladly takes and gives the hand a firm shake.

"Don't be a stranger," Doc says, tipping his head. The exchange is quick, too military for Nate's taste. He wants to tell the medic how grateful he was for his expertise on the field, teaching the men the basic training and making sure they all knew what to do when another man was injured. But isn't that what any medic would do? Yes, he is sure that any other medic would have operated at the same level of professionalism as Doc would have. He keeps his composure, returns the nod and watches the man leave.

He catches Brad looking at him from far away, surrounded by his family, but sticks out like a sore thumb amongst them. He looks away, finds Christeson and Stafford goofing off. Their respective families aren't there to greet them; neither is Nate's. He doesn't want his parents to fly all the way to Oceanside just to fly back to Baltimore right after. He's been away long enough, a little longer won't hurt anyone. But at least those two found a brother for life. He hopes that they maintain contact with each other, no matter the distance between them. (He tries to block out Ray's chattering, but he is sure that Ray hasn't been on Ripped Fuel since the end of Baghdad, so he doesn't understand where the extra burst of energy came from.)

*

Nate promised he would visit Doc in Philadelphia on the phone – though that was months ago. He does have a few days off during semester break after his plans to visit his parents, but other than that, his schedule is empty.

It is easier to talk on the phone, isn't it? It puts everyone at a distance, close, but not close enough for everything to seem real. Brad's out West, Gunny's back in Texas... they're back home and safe, until they're deployed again. Would it be rude for him to just drop by Doc's place?

No, he picks up the phone and makes the call. Doc picks up on the second ring, still calls him LT even though neither of them are in the Corps anymore; he too calls him Doc. Marines for life, right?

"'Course, you have my address? Call me if you get lost."

Nate arrives with a backpack on his back, coat covered in light dust of snow. It is still early, the sidewalks is covered with snow for most houses, left there until they need to go out. He pays the cab driver, gets out, and finds himself in front of Doc's apartment. He relishes the quiet crispness of a Saturday morning, with many of them still asleep under warm covers with the snow coming down softly - the perfect scenery.

Doc's smile is warm and welcoming, and invites him in with a big hug – already heading to the fridge for two beers.

"No tea? Warm beverage?" Nate asks, dropping his gear and coat next to the door. He doesn't want the water to get all over the carpet, but he gladly takes the cold beer from the man. He kicks off his shoes, cringing at the mess he is making on the tiles.

"Doctor's orders," Doc says, before taking a swig of his own beer. "So how's your grad school thing going?"

Nate shakes his head and sits on the couch, thinking it's too early for beer. Normally, he would be out for his morning run, but he gives himself a break; he's on vacation after all. "Same old – semester break. You know, there's not much catching up to do when we talk on the phone all the time."

Doc snorts. "Nice to see you too."

"How are the men in your team doing? I try to keep up, but there's just a lot of things going on, and my mind's been everywhere trying to get..."

"Slow down there LT. The last I heard, Stafford's bumming around at home and I think Christeson's visiting him or some shit. Said something about hating the snow and the cold. I think Stafford's itching for the beach and the sun, but I'll take the cold any day to not have sand under my balls. I think I'm okay without being around sand for awhile."

Nate suppresses a smile with the bottle and takes a small drink. Even after coming back from Iraq, he hasn't been drinking much, other than having (or just nursing) a beer or two when his college buddies invited him out. He couldn't be a hermit forever, as much as he wants to just concentrate on his studies.

"What's on your mind, LT? I could see the wheels in your brain turning."

Nate looks up at Doc, who remains leaning against the sofa. The man stares back at him, almost statue like. "It's... different, suddenly having... realizing how much quiet time you have and your mind suddenly goes AWOL on you. Little things don't mean as much now." Nate frowns, trying to find the words to explain, wondering if Doc knows how it felt. Everything now seems too quiet. Even in the campus cafeteria, he had no problems studying or doing his readings – even with all the noise surrounding him, it's still too quiet compared to Iraq.

Doc pats his shoulder twice. "This is good though, isn't it? Talking face to face. I did tell you to come down here earlier, doctor's orders. At least you listened to me now. Let's show you your room," he says, downing the rest of his beer and leaving the empty bottle on the coffee table. He grabs a coat hanger for Nate's coat and hangs it on the knob of the closet door then picks up Nate's bag with ease. He looks at his friend, still on the couch and smirks. "You coming or what, college kid?"

Nate laughs, puts the barely touched bottle next to Doc's and follows the man to the guest room.

"Well, this is it," Doc says, dropping Nate's gear next to the bed. "Nothing fancy, but as you know, Marines make do."

"As long as there's a bed, I'm fine. As you said, maybe no sand either."

"Appreciate the little things, LT. It gets better."

Nate looks at Doc, unsure what the man is trying to say, because his eyes are in conflict with his words. His mouth is spewing out comforting words but his eyes, they're telling an entirely different story. Now that he looks, truly looks, he realizes the medic is tired. He's lost the glint in his eyes, even when they were in shitholes after shitholes. At least they were trying to do something, helping kids and what not. Here, they're just normal civilians again. But he made a choice. He couldn't bare the responsibilities to see his men get hurt because incompetent officers and their bullshit orders.

Doc's right, it _is_ good to be around someone who's been there, even if it ends up having the two of them feeling shitty and helpless.

They leave the room in silence. These days, Nate can't take the silence – he usually turns the TV, radio, or sticks his iPod on speakers the moment he walks into his apartment. He turns the TV on here (Doc shrugs), and the first thing that comes on is CNN. Well, at least Nate knows that Doc isn't pretending things didn't happen. They never once mention politics in their conversations; rather, they consist of anything but.

"Can you believe they caught the motherfucker? They finally did something right for once."

Nate doesn't have to ask who Doc is talking about. It's been everywhere; he can't escape it even if he wants to. "Yeah," he murmurs. He watches the pundits or whatever they're called these days talk about it like they actually knows shit.

"Okay, enough of that," Doc takes the remote from Nate's grasp and turns off the TV . "You could watch TV at home if you want. Didn't have to come all the way here to do so. Instead we should head out, brave the cold, and get in the Christmas spirit by being around the crazy Christmas shoppers who wouldn't think twice to cut you off.."

"You would make an excellent commander, rallying the troops like that," Nate says sarcastically. As much as he hates the quiet, he rather not get between those shoppers and their toys or whatever the fuck they need to buy this year. He survived bombs and bullets, but he isn't sure he can survive that, especially when they're mainly women shoppers. They are vicious, even Nate has to admit.

"Fuck that, I'm only warming up," Doc extends his hand at Nate, who takes it and lets himself be pulled up from the couch. "Couch potato."

Nate can only bump his shoulder against Doc's to express his dismay, and reluctantly follows the man out the door, picking up his still-wet coat along the way. And he thought coming here would be a breeze, maybe relax a little, take a break from life, and just do whatever, talk or something. He was determined to be a hermit here, even as a guest with Doc. Next time he should head out to Texas or out West. Christeson has the right idea, flying down south enough to get away from the cold.

It's still early. There's plenty of time for his day to be ruined. But for now, he's not alone in this.


End file.
